


No One Invited You

by bactaqueen



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fellatio, M/M, Masturbation, PWP, Reader fic - Freeform, Threesome, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-25 20:51:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15648726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bactaqueen/pseuds/bactaqueen
Summary: You find Bucky jerking off in your bed. Then Steve finds both of you. Smut ensues.





	No One Invited You

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people or events is entirely coincidental. Captain America and the Winter Soldier belong to Marvel. No infringement is intended and no profit is made.
> 
> Author’s Note: More old porn no one was ever going to read but here we are.

****He's sprawled in your bed, long lean lines of scars and smooth skin and hard muscle, his dark hair wild around his face, his eyes shut. He's hard already, taking advantage of that with one hand wrapped around his dick, slow long strokes. He skates the other hand--the metal one, gleaming in the golden light from the lamp on the nightstand--over his chest and belly, fingertips dragging, red lines fading quickly in their wake.

You're not unnoticed and you're aware of this, aware that you stand and stare only because he permits you to stand and stare. You don't mind. Especially when the moment stretches and he squeezes himself firmly and he smiles that private smile and without even opening his eyes, says, "Had enough of just looking?"

Never, you think, but there's an invitation--no, it's an order disguised as an invitation--in his words. Hesitation isn't even an option. Maybe once it was. Maybe when you were still in awe of him. And maybe it should be. After all, even you're not sure what he's capable of. But just look at him. No, you don't care what he's capable of. He makes you feel reckless like that. And you move forward, shedding it all, comfy pants and loose t-shirt and everything underneath, because waiting to be told to disrobe just wastes precious time.

You crawl up onto the bed and he lets you come over him. He even brings his hands up, tangling his fingers in your hair, and he lets you kiss him, long breathless moments of his lips and tongue and even his teeth. Little kisses that curl heat in your belly and force your thighs together for some pressure, any pressure. And then he's urging you down, his hands on your head, and he's not gentle but that doesn't matter. He smiles again and this time, when he speaks, there's an edge of darkness in his voice.

"Now get down there."

If he were anyone else, you'd kick him out of bed. For him... for him, you just lick his collarbones and bite your way down the flat planes of his chest and trace the lines of his abs with your tongue and kiss down one sharp hip until you can lick a wet stripe up the length of his hard, hot cock.

"Keep going," he breathes, and shifts his hips under you. "Don't stop, sweetheart." He lays his hand along your cheek, brushes the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip. He's pressing your mouth open, shifting his hips again, and the head of his cock nudges past your lips. He pushes his fingers through your hair once more and forces you down.

Not that there's much forcing. But it still gives you a thrill, the weight--the danger--of his hands on your head. And there's the solid hot length of his dick inching past your lips, over your tongue, along your palate, and there's another thrill because you're not sure how far he's going to go.

You spend long moments like that, the silence of the room broken by his low grunts and groans and the occasional guttural Russian and the wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of your mouth and your own harsh breathing. Eyes closed, you fall into something like a trance, in no hurry to take this anywhere. You stretch out between his spread legs, balancing on your elbow, letting the heat of arousal overtake you, exploring with your lips and tongue and fingers everything he's offering. He seems only too happy to let you while away the time like this.

Until he tenses. Your muddled brain mistakes it for impending orgasm, and you back off instinctively, wrapping fingers around his shaft and licking around the head of his cock just past your lips. If he's going to come, you're going to be ready for it. His fingers tighten in your hair and he hisses.

"Go away, Steve."

"Now, Bucky, this is the lady's room. Shouldn't she have a say?" Steve's voice is rough but he still manages to sound patronizing.

Maybe that's his real super power. That smug, all-knowing superiority.

He's close to the bed. Now that you know he's there, you can hear him breathing, sense the heat of his body. You wonder, vaguely, how long he's been watching. Then Bucky shifts his hips and his dick slides over your tongue and Steve is suddenly not much of a priority. You hollow your cheeks around the head of his cock, briefly, before bobbing your head and swallowing around him.

Bucky groans. "Does she look like she can talk right now?"

"Don't be crude." That might be amusement in Steve's voice. The bed shakes and dips. A big warm hand is on your back, sliding from your shoulder to the curve of your ass. "Did you at least get her off first?" He squeezes your ass, and when you draw your knees up a little to arch your back and angle your hips, his fingers slip lower.

"That's none of your damn business." His hips move restlessly and he tugs at your hair. He seems more frustrated than pleasured now and you're starting to feel a little distressed.

"So, no." Steve brushes his fingertips along your slit, an exploratory touch.

Suddenly, not distressed. You can't help the little moan around Bucky's cock or the eager rock of your hips back. Steve's fingertips slip between your folds, not enough, but it's welcome, so welcome.

Steve grunts. "You're such a greedy bastard, Buck. You have any idea how ready she is?" He shifts his weight on the other side of Bucky's leg, and then he's there, kissing your shoulder, his voice low so only you can hear--but you know that's not right, because Bucky hears everything--when he says, "Let me in?"

You spread your legs and roll your hips, forcing his fingertips over your clit. You whimper. It's the only invitation Steve needs, rubbing right where you want him, slow and gentle, almost no pressure. Damn him.

"We were getting there," Bucky bites. He rocks up, tightening his fingers in your hair. His cock slides deeper, the head of it hitting the back of your throat. You swallow reflexively, caught between two points of pleasure, overloaded and running purely on instinct. Bucky groans. "Can't you just let me enjoy the blow job?" he grumbles at Steve.

"Didn't say you couldn't," Steve tells him. His breath sounds muffled now, and then his face is there next to yours, stubbly cheek rough against your own, and he licks your fingers away until you open them, and then that's his tongue flicking the side of your mouth as he licks his way up and down and back. His fingers between your legs are still working, merciless.

You pull up, letting Bucky's cock go with a wet  _pop_ , and for the first time you open your eyes. Steve's face is there, eyes shut, his lashes impossibly long against his cheeks.

Above you both, Bucky breathes, "Oh, fuck." His metal hand leaves your head for Steve's when Steve opens his mouth and sucks the whole length of Bucky down at once.

That's not even fair. You keen softly and grind down against Steve's fingers. It's hot, oh, it's definitely hot, especially since you can flick your eyes up and see Bucky biting his lips, his skin flushed, see the little jumps and twitches of muscle in his abs. But it's not fair. Steve gets him whenever he wants and always has. It's your turn.

You shoulder him over. Steve lifts his head, licking the tip of Bucky's dick as he releases it, and he turns sleepy questioning eyes on you.

"Mine," you say.

He smiles at you. It's that stupid small smile that makes you go all-- Oh. That's definitely you whining again. Because Steve's gliding two fingers into and out of you and oh.

"We can share," you manage.

"That's what I thought." He leans in, briefly, kisses you hotly. Then he's back to Bucky, running his parted lips the length of him, ducking his head and licking down over his tight balls.

This is... this is... Thinking is totally overrated. You surge forward and work Bucky's cock back into your mouth and this, this is much better. You don't have to think. You just have to bob and suck and lick, you just have to grind down on Steve's fingers. You just have to listen to Bucky, swearing at you--you're pretty sure it's swearing--in his broken Russian. You just have to let Steve kiss your cheek and when you back off to let him have a turn, you just have to let him dip his tongue into your mouth and enjoy the flavor of Bucky and Steve all mingled together.

Only it gets better.

Because Bucky goes tense, all over. Even his thighs are hard. He tugs at your hair and pushes you down and you're not really sure where he wants you to go, but it's your turn for his cock, so you start to work your way up from the base of it. You're not in time. Bucky comes with a shout and makes a mess, all over his stomach and the head of his ruddy dick and his balls are jerking and the rigid muscle of his shaft squirms and that wasn't at all what you expected. You settle, staring, glancing briefly up at Bucky's heaving chest and sweaty face, and you're seriously considering wiggling up and licking it up just to see what he'll do when fucking Steve beats you to it.

What is breathing again?

Bucky lifts his head. You're torn between watching his face and watching Steve and so you go back and forth, a spectator at a tennis match, watching Bucky's eyes widen and roll around, watching his mouth open and close. Then you watch Steve, Bucky's metal hand curling and uncurling in his hair, Steve's lips parted, his tongue working, lapping, stroking, cleaning Bucky from shaft to hips, up over his belly, not missing a damn thing, and he keeps going, lifting his hand from you, working his way up Bucky's body, and then he's kissing Bucky, hard, pressing him down into the pillows, scratching short nails up Bucky's stomach and chest and over a nipple. For the longest time, they forget you, wrapped up in each other, deep hard wet kisses, short breaks for ragged breaths. Your eyes fall, to Steve's cock rising hard and angry-red against his stomach, and, damn it, that's not your problem. In fact, you are Bucky's problem. You're wet and needy and really, really unsatisfied.

But before you can say anything, Steve is flat on his back and Bucky is up, and you're just... there. Forgotten. Bucky actually lifted his leg over you. He settles between Steve's legs, just as you had settled between his, and you watch in silent, frustrated fascination as Bucky sets to work. There's none of the slow blow you offered, Bucky sucks like he has a goal. Like he has a plan. Steve shoves his fingers--half of them wet, sticking--into Bucky's hair and his hips rise and Bucky just lets Steve fuck his face. Fuck, that's hot. You roll to your side, prop your head on a hand, and, yes, let the other steal right down between your legs. You can at least do this, do this while Bucky's red lips are pursing and thinning, while he's stroking Steve, while Steve is moaning and rocking and Bucky is just taking it.

These boys need to get together more often. But they do not need to forget you.

Bucky jerks away and you realize a split second before Steve starts coming just exactly what Bucky means to do. Steve makes far more of a mess--maybe it's the serum?--and he shouts and writhes a lot. You'd look up at his face, but you're far more transfixed by the dark hunger on Bucky's face, by the slow deliberate movement as he pushes himself up and shifts forward. Steve moans loud and broken as Bucky licks. Bucky's neater. More thorough. By the time he's done cleaning Steve from the tip of his cock to his nipples, Steve is half-hard again.

"When'd you get so dirty, Steve?"

"Learned it from you," Steve mumbles.

Bucky forces him into a kiss, all tongue and teeth and you can see from your vantage point that he's sharing the taste of Steve with him. And you can tell from the deep groan Steve gives that he doesn't mind it one little bit.

You let them go on for a while, kissing, touching. Steve's pushing Bucky's hair out of his face and Bucky is stroking Steve's side. And while there are a lot of things you thought might happen tonight, being forgotten while the ice boyfriends made out in preparation for round two wasn't exactly high on your list of hopes.

"Um. Excuse me?"

Bucky breaks the kiss. He and Steve are both red-faced, with swollen shiny lips and big dark eyes. Bucky gives you that smirk, that dangerous one.

_"I didn't forget you, sweetheart."_

You just look at him. He turned your little session into a dirty spunk-sucking contest with his boyfriend and now he wants to toss some Russian at you and melt your panties? Well. Those are gone and he's going to have to work a little harder than that. You raise an eyebrow at him.

Steve laughs. "I think she's mad at you, Buck."

"It's your fault."

"Just be glad she doesn't have a gun." Steve sounds warm and loose.

"I've had enough being shot at, thanks." Bucky licks his lips, still looking at you. "What do you want?"

Oh, like he's really giving you a choice. When you don't say anything, his grin turns nearly feral.

"Good girl."

The way he says it shouldn't send a thrill straight through you, but it does, and as you're pondering that, he's crawling over Steve, shoving you back, settling beside you. Then Steve is there, and the two of them are everywhere, heavy legs pinning yours apart, roaming hands and hot mouths. Fingers are inside you and they don't all belong to the same person. Lips are on your breasts, your throat, your mouth. Harsh breathing in your ears. You want Bucky, want the cool slick slide of metal inside you, but Steve's there, too, thrusting his fingers in when Bucky pulls his out, and Bucky's lips are on your ear, filthy nothings about your wet pussy and don't you like it when Steve fucks you and did you like watching him suck off Captain America. It's not long at all, you're coming once, and they don't stop, fingering you and kissing you through it, and it's only when you're weak and desperate and far too sensitive to each touch that you even try to push them away.

Bucky is far more persistent than Steve.

"Let her go."

"I don't want to." Bucky is nibbling your neck and you're having flashbacks to the cannoli.

"She's done, Bucky." Steve pulls his hand away from your cunt. "Just give her a few minutes."

"You know, no one invited you to this party." Bucky drapes his arm and leg over you, draws circles on your skin with his fingers. You'd complain, but your brain won't form a complaint.

"You weren't complaining when I was sucking your dick."

"Had some practice with that?"

You swear you can feel the heat of Steve's blush. "Shut up, Bucky."


End file.
